


Break Me Down

by Vali_West



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:18:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vali_West/pseuds/Vali_West
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky isn't feeling too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Me Down

It was too hot.

It was too cold.

Bucky thrashed once, grabbing the blanket with him as he rolled to his side. He panted and wiped his brow, glazed eyes scanning the room for any sign of comfort. But the room was bare. The walls were stark-white, the floor was smooth light wood, and the shelves were empty.

He whimpered and curled, hiding his body underneath the blanket as a cold flash struck his body. He shivered and clutched his arms around himself. His steel arm only brought further chills to his shuddering body.

The pain in his head was agonizing. His headache was pounding and relentless, sending tremors through his thoughts and burning the edges of his skull. He clutched at his temples desperately, as if adding pressure would somehow help relieve it.

Suddenly, it was too hot. He groaned weakly as he thrust away his blankets, kicking them with his bare legs until they landed on the ground. He panted, his head turning to face the ceiling. His chest heaved with every hard breath.

He tried to focus on the patterns of the ceiling, but his mind wasn't letting him comprehend that. He could see the tiny dots, the little waves in the material, but he couldn't manage to count or find a rhythm to it all. It all seemed so... pointless.

The door to his left slid open and brought an extra shade of light into the room. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut tightly, his hands clenching into fists.

“Buck,” Said a soft voice.

Who was-?

Him.

That was him.

He was Buck.

Footsteps grew closer, and then they stopped just short of his bed. The tall figure pulled up a metal chair and placed it beside him, a thick _clang_ in the air as he put it on the ground. Bucky flinched at the sound.

“Bucky,” Echoed the voice gently.

Bucky forced himself to open his eyes. It was a timid and nervous, but he did so all the same. The form sitting to his side was far too familiar.

His mission.

His friend.

His...

His Steve.

“Steven.” The word was raspy and nearly incoherent, wrought with disuse. Bucky's dry mouth tasted like acid.

The look in Steve's eyes grew softer and fonder, and Bucky couldn't help but feel a slight swell of pride in his chest as he looked upon him.

“That's my Buck.” Steve whispered, and reached out with one hand cautiously.

Bucky's jaw locked but he somehow managed not to pull away. Steve's hand rested upon his brow, and Bucky felt a shudder of stiffness at the contact. But he forced himself to take a deep breath and to relax.

“Fever's still not broken.” Steve told him, his voice sad and low.

It took Bucky several moments to comprehend what that meant.

Bucky startled when Steve moved closer, his body going tense as Steve sat down beside him – on his bed – and carefully, as if he were made of frail glass, pulled him closer to him. Bucky's eyes widened in stunned surprise.

“Do you remember this?” His voice asked quietly.

Bucky shook his head.

“You would hold me like this. It wouldn't matter if I were hurt or sick. You would simply hold me, and let me cry, let me cough, and you'd rub my back. Like this.”

And a hand was placed upon between his shoulder blades, but this time, Bucky didn't freeze at the extra contact. Steve began to massage his back slowly, rubbing his hand in circles across his spine and blades. His fingertips pressed lightly into his naked skin, tracing meaningless patterns and shapes across his back.

“Do you remember?”

He began to press just a touch heavier, his hand starting to massage deep into strained muscles, toned with time and over-wrung with use. Bucky's lips parted with the attention, and he wet them hesitantly. Steve trailed his hand upwards to his neck, up to his hairline, where his fingertips began to rub. Bucky's eyes fluttered closed, and Steve took it as invitation to run his hand up and through his hair slowly, so slowly.

“Yes.” Bucky mumbled, his head tipping back and resting against Steve's chest. He could feel the cool cloth beneath his cheek, feel the hard muscle flexing with every movement he made.

“That's it, darlin'.” Steve murmured, a slow drawl slipping into his words. “That's my Buck.”

Bucky's eyes slid open slowly. Something deep inside his mind began to shift gears, and a blurred memory came into place. It was dark, it was warm, it was pleasant. There was a word there, standing out against all of the others, one that made him feel at home, made him felt good, made him felt... loved. It was hesitant, and it hurt to think, but somehow...

“Sweetheart.”

Beneath him, Steve paused. “What was that?” He asked gently.

“Sweet... heart.” Bucky whispered, and his voice broke halfway through the word. “You... used to call me that.” The words were impossible to say, for reasons he couldn't place, and he struggled to finish, “during the war.”

That did it. It was all he could manage. He moaned and pressed his face into his chest, exhaustion seeping into every crevice of his body and making him feel weak and useless and-

“That's right.” Steve spoke, and his voice trembled.

Bucky could barely hear him. His vision was fading. Steve was speaking, but it sounded to be so far away and he had no energy to understand his words. His world was falling to black.

Before his senses faded to nothing, he heard a soft whisper, something he knew he had heard so frequently before, but he could not remember a particular instance. Those three words that had always made everything okay again, the words that had brought sun to stormy nights and peace to hell. It had made him feel safe.

“I love you.”


End file.
